I walk the Lungo Drom and see long past its end

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The television had been dominated by people arguing about who was going to be the next king or queen of the country pretty much non-stop for days now, so Hyacinthe had retreated to his room to find something else to do. As entertaining as the television was ('twas like a world of plays on command!), he had noticed that a great deal of it could be oddly repetitive at times. What was with the show about breakfast foods that spent all their time weeping? Why was that a thing?

He had tried writing a letter to Phèdre, but could not think of anything he'd done in the past month or so worth the ink. So instead, he lounged on his bed, flipping through the Ecstatica, while debating who might be around that he could bother. He found himself missing Night's Doorstep fiercely; today would be the perfect day to visit the Cockerel with Emile and fleece visiting noble lads and lasses out of coin over a few hands of cards.

After his conversation with Gratuity in class yesterday, Hyacinthe had several new things to look up on the Wikipedia. He'd started keeping a mental list of concepts to read up on during conversations, so he wasn't constantly interrupting with questions. Of course, his research tended to get interrupted by needing to read other articles to explain the concepts on the page he'd started on which kept his list from shortening by any appreciable amount.

Today, though, he had another mission in mind. He'd drawn a map of Europa as best as he could approximate it, and was going through trying to match as many countries as he could to the ones he knew. Some were harder than others (apparently borders were redrawn in this world all the time), but now he knew the next time he wanted someone to understand he was talking about Aragonia, he needed to call it 'Spain.'

Okay. That sounded fake, but okay.

[Expecting one (with the likelihood it will go NSFW) certainly open for beforehand! Up early for SP as I get my stitches out & then enjoy the last trip to the beach this summer.]

And, just as suddenly as the bout of Fandom whimsy had taken hold of Hyacinthe, it let go, leaving a naked boy on the bed where there had been a pretty flower in an earthenware pot just a few moments ago. Hya sat up, carefully felt himself all over to make sure he was properly himself and not missing any key bits, and tried to wrap his mind around exactly what had just happened. He wasn't even entirely sure was the problem. One minute he'd been himself, the next dreaming about the feel of the sun overhead and the rich soil below and by Blessed Elua and the One God was he thirsty!

He'd figure out the little details like what day it was and just what had happened later. For now, he was pulling on a pair of breeches and finding the nearest source of water to drink his fill.

So, for the next week, I'm going to have practically no time at all. So my kids are either transformed (teddy bear, with modding rights to the wonderful vdistinctive and whoisalicewhite if she'd back in time) or off doing their own thing (ruling a country and/or eating people). I'll see y'all after the 4th!

Hyacinthe was whistling a song that had been going around Night's Doorstep right before he'd left, a fairly bawdy song about a highborn lady with an insatiable appetite for her footmen and maids. He was packing for the week in the odd huts, which meant he had the majority of his clothing out to pack. He didn't have a whole lot of clothing to his name; back home, that wasn't much of an issue. Compared to most of Night's Doorstep, he was something of a dandy. But here, he had less than damn near anyone else and it was pricking at his Prince of Traveler's pride.

His mind was occupied with what he might buy and where--most of the clothing worn in this period was not to his taste--when Fandom whimsy struck. One second, he was a pretty Tsingani boy with laughing eyes, and the next there was a potted flower sitting on the bed.

Hyacinthe was dicing with Emile and several other members of his crew when a familiar carriage pulled up in the street outside. Brown and gold with a sheaf of corn on the crest, it was a carriage that Hyacinthe saw far too infrequently. "Phèdre!" he said, tossing the dice to the table with little care. A four and a three, his Tsingani luck holding even as the game fled his mind. "Keep it," he told them, genially. "The next round is on me, in honor of the Prince of Travellers and the Queen of Courtesans!" The men--boys really--at the table cheered. Hyacinthe, generally cheerful and extravagant, only grew moreso when Phèdre made her way to Night's Doorstep to see him. Yes, she was beautiful enough to make men stupid with lust and women sick with jealousy, but to him, she was far more than that. In a place where people would swear eternal brotherhood one moment, then cosh each other in the head the next and all for a free drink, Phèdre was something rare and special: a true friend.

For that and that alone, he cherished her, unlike those who knew and valued her only as Delaunay's anguissette.

And for that reason, his stomach tumbled and smile faltered when he saw not Phèdre alighting from the carriage with Guy following apace, but the man who held her marque: ( Anafiel Delaunay )

***

And now Hyacinthe was here. He'd arrived in time for the beginning of classes, though he'd missed some kind of picnic and had to be provided his dorm assignment by a moose (and then had the concept of a dorm explained to him as well, though that was by a cranky woman with too much face paint), but he was here, attending school. If he wasn't careful, this place might turn him into a pedant or a pedagogue and he'd be utterly useless to anyone. But until that happened, he was content to lounge and learn like some noble's heir and debate just how useful he wished to be to Delaunay.

All while wondering where he could get a decent wine. In some things, he was truly D'Angeline.

[Mostly establishy, but can be open. Pings to be answered when I wake up!]

Elua's balls, this is would give an Siovalese lordling a conniption! *A man's merry laughter, followed by him clearing his throat.* I am told that anyone who wishes to speak to me may do so through this contraption. Pray leave your name, a number of some sort, and your message, and I shall endeavor to find you to carry on the conversation.